


By Chance

by DeadHero



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), PKNA - Paperinik New Adventures
Genre: Ducktales Secret Santa 2020, Gen, Identity Reveal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, as in it takes place when theyre teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadHero/pseuds/DeadHero
Summary: "Is this a cape?"Nighttime is often when secrets slip and revelations are made. What did Gladstone's luck get him into this time?...For the Ducktales Secret Santa 2020 event!
Relationships: Donald Duck & Gladstone Gander
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	By Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was for the ducktales secret Santa event organized on tumblr. A gift for zestyquetzalcoatl.tumblr.com. I understand this isn't quite Donald and Gladstone getting along, but I hope to have captured that they both love each other despite the rockiness of the situation. If you have a ao3 user i'd be happy to gift this to you within the site! Hope my giftee and everyone else who clicks on this enjoys!

_Summer, 1999_

Gladstone and Fethry’s parents wanted to go on a wine tour through Calisota, so the two of them were dumped on Scrooge McDuck, their barely related ‘uncle’. However, since Scrooge had taken in Della and Donald as his wards, the geezer had become a bit more approachable, a tad more indulgent of his young family. Part of that was giving in when Della asked her uncle to let her cousins stay with them for a couple of weeks during the summer. 

Gladstone considers Fethry more brother than cousin given how often their parents had the other family over. Fethry is a good kid, silly but reliable. Della is whip-sharp with all the subtlety of a rocket, but she’s the only one who can prank Gladstone without his luck saving him. It’s unfortunate for his wardrobe, but it makes seeing her so much fun. Donald…

He’s easy to rile up, is all Gladstone can really say. Or is it? That certainly hadn’t been the case earlier.

Scrooge was stuck in meetings the whole afternoon of their first day in Duckburg, so Della and Donald showed their cousins around town. While walking around, they passed an electronics store with a window filled with televisions tuned to the same channel. On the screens was a Kiwi, the name _Angus Fergus - Channel 00_ visible on the subtitle banner. The breaking news headline was _DUCK AVENGER: ENEMY OR FOE?_

Gladstone laughed. “Enemy or foe? What kind of question is that?” He watched briefly as a news clip of a dark duck-shaped figure jumped a fence. His cousins stopped so he wouldn’t be left behind and turned to face him. 

Donald frowned, saying, “It’s not a question.”

Della jumped in at that point. “That’s the top reporter on the _Duck Avenger_ ,” and as she said the name, she moved her voice up and down and wiggled her fingers. Gladstone and Fethry laughed at her antics, and Donald’s shoulders hitched up.

“Top reporter?” Donald scoffed. “The Duck Avenger is only a menace to those who need menacing, and that reporter is a joke. He can’t even write a byline.”

“Do you even know what a byline is?” Gladstone joked and Donald started to grow red. Della jeered at her brother and Fethry mimicked her. Donald’s face darkened.

“Yeah, didn’t you fail that English test, Don?” Della brought Donald in for a noogie, but he escaped it easily. He nearly swung at her, but stopped mid-way, grimacing.

“You okay, Donald?” Fethry asked.

Gladstone watched as Donald looked at the groups of people walking past them on the sidewalk before blowing his emo-long bangs out of his eyes with faked nonchalance. The duck rolled his shoulder and all he said was, “I got clipped by some ninny on a unicycle earlier. Don’t worry about it.”

“A unicycle?” Gladstone and Fethry questioned at once, but were steamrolled by Della’s reply.

“Wow, Don, if a unicycle can take you out you better let me take point on the next adventure,” Della laughed. She then tacked on, “Do you wanna put an ice pack on it back at home?”

“Nah, let’s just keep walking. That new arcade Funzo’s is a few blocks away,” Donald brushed Della off.

While going to Funzo’s had been awesome, especially because Gladstone tried the Big Bass wheel and won the 10,000 tickets (and he played the claw machine, successfully grabbing a toy each time), Gladstone feels... 

There’s this niggling emotion in his chest, and as Gladstone tosses and turns in his bed, he can’t help but wonder if there is something wrong with Donald.

Gladstone huffs and drags his luxurious pillow down his face. “This is stupid,” he tells the dark of his temporary room. He flops onto his side and pulls the down comforter over his head. Underneath the blanket, it is pitch black and with each exhale it becomes stuffier and hotter and more unbearable. 

He bursts out and pushes the comforter away. Gladstone grimaces and closes his eyes. He opens them and then sits up, grabbing his pillow and pummelling it a few times. He lays it and then himself back down. Sighing, he closes his eyes again.

“Argh!” Gladstone gripes out loud and he beats his fist into the mattress. Why couldn’t he go to sleep? “This sucks.” 

This is fine, though. He’ll just drink some water and then fall right asleep like a baby. That’s it, right, his luck won’t let him go to sleep because he’s dehydrated, no problemo-

He turns to the nightstand, where no matter Gladstone stays there is always a glass of water, there’s no glass of water.

“Seriously?” Gladstone squawks at his luck. “ _Seriously?_ ”

He sighs heavily and glances at the door. “I guess I’ll just go get my own water.” Luckily, by the door are a pair of shamrock green slippers. Gladstone shrugs his bathrobe over his pajamas and finds the slippers to be exceedingly soft when he slides them on.

The door opens quietly on oiled hinges, and Gladstone slowly makes his way out of the guest wing of the mansion to the main steps. He’s certain there are closer stairs that would take him to the kitchen, but he’s yet to learn them. He could probably ask Della or Donald about it tomorrow. He passes by a suit of knight’s armor and the moonlight pouring in from the windows glints off the poleaxe menacingly.

Gladstone shivers and shuffles faster. He can’t imagine living in such a creepy place with creepy things all year. Would make him bananas. All these magical artifacts and mystic doodads must be at least half responsible for Scrooge’s weird habits, Gladstone thinks and then laughs at his own thoughts. 

“I’m hilarious,” he says out loud and definitely doesn’t startle when a hushed wailing emanates from a collection of strangely-shaped clay. He shivers again, “Eugh.” Soon he’s at the main stairs and not a single step groans as Gladstone walks down.

A sharp creak snaps through the still air.

He freezes on the stair landing and he looks toward the sound. Towards the steps on the other side of the landing that lead to the west wing of the house, where he was told Scrooge, Della, and Donald’s bedrooms are somewhere located. Gladstone grimaces. On one hand, it’s probably nothing, just some treasure acting up a bit how that pottery had. On the other hand…

Gladstone can’t help but imagine his cousins and their uncle in trouble and somehow unable to yell for help, that creak being the sole sound to alert anyone, and Gladstone had _just happened_ to be nearby to hear it. His hands fiddle with the bathrobe tie, and his head swings to look back-and-forth between the ground floor, just down the steps, and the other side of the mansion, up the steps.

“That didn’t happen, I didn’t hear anything,” Gladstone murmurs to himself. 

_Thud_.

Gladstone glares incredulously. That sound was so soft and distant, but he undeniably heard something thud in the house. Right after he said...nope, no more tempting fate, Gladstone decides. He turns to walk down the stairs, but as soon as his foot touches the first step, he hears another creak. Gladstone huffs and the moment his other foot touches the next step, there is...

Nothing. He didn’t hear anything. That’s good, right?

Gladstone makes it halfway across the foyer before he whips around and races up the stairs. He speed-walks down the hall of the opposite wing, feeling silly as he cups his hands to his ears. He hopes he hears something. He hopes he hears nothing.

There! A muffled yelp pierced the still air and was cut off not even a second later, but Gladstone had heard it. He stops in his tracks, and as luck would have it, he’s in front of a branching off hallway. Gladstone sees a few doors down it, but the main one that draws his attention is wrapped all around in bright yellow CAUTION tape. As he reluctantly walks closer, Gladstone spots a tiny boat sticker on the door jamb. 

He nearly sweat drops. Gladstone loves his cousin, but he knows it’d be tempting fate to knock on the temperamental teenager’s door in the middle of the night. And what would Gladstone have to say for himself, that he was worried? That there were some weird sounds that scared him? He’d be very lucky if the only thing that happens is Donald waking up, telling him he heard some spooky artefact, and closing the door in his face.

Oh wait, it slowly dawns on the teenager. He is that lucky! He’s incredibly lucky every single day, why would this be any different? All he needs to do is knock, lay his fears to rest, go to bed, and lay himself to rest. Everything will be fine. He'll go back to sleep and the sun will rise and everything will be fine. Gladstone sucks in a deep breath and exhales in a whoosh. He knocks four times, just enough force to catch attention if Donald is awake, but not raucous enough to wake him. A muffled curse filters through the door. Gladstone frowns and folds his arms awkwardly. The door opens a few inches to reveal the sleep-squinting eyes of his cousin. 

“Gladstone?”

He laughs weakly. “Ah! Donald, just the duck I wanted to see…” Gladstone means to say more, but is distracted by the dark shadows under Donald’s eyes. Or, more, around the eyes…?

“Did you need something?” asks Donald. His eyes are looking away from Gladstone’s, and his fingertips around the door are flecked darkly.

Gladstone blue screens for a second before finding some words to say, “I was wondering if you knew anything about the pottery near my room! Such fascinating pieces of, uh, artwork.”

The door shuts without answer and the goose scrambles. “Wait! No, I uh, I actually was, I’m worried,” he stammers out, and the door opens back up, a little more than before. Success. If only it wasn’t at the sacrifice of his dignity. “You see, they’re really freaky, and were making some weird moaning wailing noises? And I just couldn’t get to sleep!” Gladstone grins bashfully. The door opens fully, and there stands Donald, rumpled and grumbly but definitely awake. 

“Move to a different room tonight. Tell Uncle Scrooge in the morning about it, he’ll give them a lecture,” Donald advises him, actually more helpful than Gladstone thought he would be. “Go back to sleep, Glad.”

“Well, uh, sounds good,” Gladstone says. The door begins to shut and Gladstone blurts out, “Why are you wearing boots in the middle of the night?” He had barely noticed them at first, but now it’s striking him as super weird.

Donald squawks. His eyes flick down and then back up to meet Gladstone’s. His cousin goes to slam shut his bedroom door, but before it closes Gladstone shoves his hand in between and blocks it. He hisses loudly in pain and Donald’s eyes go wide. The door reopens and Donald starts to reach out to Gladstone, who’s withdrawn the injured hand and stuffed it in his mouth to muffle his yelps, but then the duck aborts the gesture. When Gladstone finally lets go of his bruised hand, Donald flicks the side of his beak.

“Idiot,” he rasps. “Don’t put your stupid hand in the door.”

Gladstone declines to respond because with the door open more, he has a better view of his cousin. Donald’s feathers are badly ruffled, his tee-shirt oddly bulky on him like he’s wearing something big underneath, his black boots dirty and scuffed. Now, Gladstone can tell that his eyes aren’t swollen with only a lack of sleep but also with bruising.

He whistles lowly. “That’s a hell of a shiner, Don.” His cousin’s shoulders jump to his ears and he snarls at Gladstone.

“Shut up! You didn’t see any of this!” Donald stands taller and moves to block Gladstone’s view of the room, but Gladstone uses that to push him out of the way and walk in. As he walks by, he spies a thick piece of blue fabric spilling out the back of Donald’s shirt. He quickly reaches out and grabs it, pulling it closer to inspect. It has more weight to it than Gladstone expected and the underside is a deep coal black.

“Is this a cape?”

Donald whirls around to face him, and man, oh man has Gladstone messed up. If looks could kill Gladstone would be worm food. The duck’s shoulders start to shake and Gladstone can practically see steam whistling out his ears. Oh man.

“Get out of my room! You didn’t see anything! GET OUT-” Donald’s volume exponentially rises and Gladstone rushes to clamp the duck’s bill shut before he grows loud enough to wake up everyone else. Donald shakes in his grasp for a few seconds but regains his calm quickly enough that Gladstone feels somewhat certain he won’t start yelling again. Donald breathes heavily and with a dark look at Gladstone, he turns his back on him and stalks over to his bed. “Get out of my room,” his cousin orders, pulling his blanket over his head. As if that would be enough to dissuade a curious (not scared!) gander. Gladstone eyes the haphazard mess around the room. Piles of clothes, overflowing trash, an open window letting in an unusually cold summer draft. He shivers. Then he looks closer at the window.

Dark, two-toned smudges litter the windowsill. The floor below the window is oddly clear of any mess in a rough circle. Gladstone knows for a fact that there is a climbable trellis right outside Donald’s window. Della had pointed it out during his and Fethry’s first tour of the manor grounds, bemoaning the fact that lame straight-lace Donald got a sneak-out-able window and she didn’t. 

Gladstone had laughed then, but now he was severely doubting the idea that Donald never snuck out. 

“Donald? Is this…” Gladstone walks closer to the window and bends over. He picks up something small and black, rough in texture and sort of sticky. Spread out in his hands, he can see it’s a domino mask like the ones comic book superheroes wear. His trailing off must have been telling because after a few seconds Donald forcefully tumbles out of bed and snatches the mask from Gladstone’s hands.

“It’s for a school play,” Donald says harshly before shoving him towards the door. “Get out of my room.”

“Is this blood?” Gladstone asks as he stares at the reddish residue on his fingertips. “Donald, I want an explanation.”

“Yeah, well I want a thousand dollars, and you don’t see me getting it,” the duck says brusquely. 

“Do you want a thousand dollars? I can give you it.” It wouldn’t even make a dent in his savings with how his parents make him deposit all the twenty-dollar bills he finds and cash prizes from sweepstakes he unwittingly wins.

Donald’s feathers fluff out a bit, and Gladstone realizes that was the wrong thing to say. “I, uh, well I mean, are you okay?”

His cousin gives him a disbelieving look and pauses in his attempts to push Gladstone out. The goose notices a small patch of darkened feathers on the side of Donald’s head. He reaches out to poke it. “You’re hurt?”

Donald bats his hand aside. “Just leave, Gladstone. Forget all this and I’ll let you get away with as many jokes as you want tomorrow.”

Tempting. Very tempting, in fact. For a second, Gladstone wavers. He and Fethry are in the works planning a prank on the Duck twins for the next day, and it’s a doozy of one that definitely would result in getting chased up a tree. His tree climbing skills are lacking…

“Nope!” Gladstone replies. “C’mon cuz! What’s the big secret? Some adventure you don’t want your sis getting in on?” His response gets him a tired look. Gladstone frowns. He’s just getting nowhere tonight. How untypical. This calls for drastic measures.

“Look, Donald,” he says seriously, and steps aside and away from the door. He levels a look at his cousin and is returned with an exhausted, stony stare. “I don’t want in on…” Gladstone gestures around the room, “whatever this is. I was worried earlier, but, eugh, this pains me to say, but I was worried about you.”

His cousin’s stunned expression is enough to make Gladstone continue. “You seemed off earlier, and this is like, REALLY wildly weird, whatever you’re up to, and, I don’t know, are you actually okay?” Donald stares at him, his face closed off and blank. Gladstone fidgets a bit awkwardly; bald-faced honesty is not his usual policy and the longer this silence drags out the heavier the sinking feeling in his stomach gets.

Finally, his cousin sighs harshly and looks him in the eyes before glancing around his owm room. Donald sighs again, but reaches out and closes the door with a click. Gladstone backs up to give him space and sits down in the desk chair to the left of the bed. 

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Donald begins quietly. “Not Fethry, not Della, not Scrooge, not your folks, you tell anyone and not even your luck will save you.” Teenage bravado or not, a shiver runs down Gladstone’s spine.

“Okay.”

“You promise?” Donald marches up to him and sticks a pinky finger in his face. Gladstone curls his own pinky around it and swallows roughly.

“Promise, Don.” 

Donald breathes in and it’s like all the tension in him had been cut in two. With a deep sigh, his shoulders sag and the duck stumbles a few steps backward to sit heavily on the bed. He awkwardly draws up one leg and encircles his arms around it, and scratches at his elbow. In the soft moonlight pouring in, Gladstone can just make out a bandage clip peeking out of feathers. What craziness is Gladstone stepping into this time?

Donald mumbles...something into his elbows and knee, his face too buried for Gladstone to hear. “What?”

Donald mumbles again. 

“What?”

Donald’s fingers clench. Unclench. He lifts his head to glare at the goose. Reluctantly, as if the very words pain him, Donald says, “I’m the Duck Avenger.”

Gladstone’s eyes bug out.

“WHA-” Donald moves lightning-quick, lunging forward and clamping a hand around Gladstone’s beak. He lets go after a second. Gladstone continues, volume adjusted, “-what do you mean you’re the freaking Duck Avenger? You’re saying you’re a vigilante? Did you hit your head?”

“Yes,” says Donald. “At least several times.” Gladstone has no response to that. 

His cousin...is a vigilante. What did Gladstone know about the Duck Avenger? Not well-liked by news reporters, not well-liked by police, not well-liked by criminals. Criminals. His cousin regularly goes out and sneaks around at the dead of night getting...who had Gladstone heard about? The mayor?

“What was the deal with the mayor?” Gladstone asks. Donald frowns and seems a little caught off-guard.

“He was embezzling funds from Duckburg taxes,” explains Donald. “Using people’s money for his own fancy, schmancy pool at his big fancy, schmancy mansion, instead of fixing potholes or funding something worthwhile!”

“You live in a fancy, schmancy mansion with a pool,” Gladstone points out. Donald glares at him.

“It’s not the same!”

“Okay, okay!” Gladstone raises his hands in surrender, and he changes the topic. “So, like, you go out and expose politicians and punch robbers and stuff? Like _Superdog_ or _Wonder Warble_?” 

Donald scratches the back of his neck. “There’s a bit more to it than that, but uh, yeah.” The duck sits taller. “I avenge. I avenge on those taking advantage of those not in power. Or is it I avenge those not in power…” the teenager trails off. 

“Neat!” Gladstone interjects as he can empathize with being brain fuzzy late at night; this is all so confusing without thinking about grammar of all things. Ugh, grammar.

“Wait, so how’s being a mysterious vigilante going to work when summer is over and school starts?” asks Gladstone. He starts to spin himself in the desk chair. “Are you going to just ‘avenge’ on weekends and holidays or…?”

Donald shakes his head and then yawns so big Gladstone hears a joint pop. He shivers. Eugh, gross. Whoa, he’s dizzy. He stops spinning the chair and realizes he’s missed half of what Donald has said. “Wait, back up, can you repeat that?” 

His cousin rolls his eyes but obliges. “I was _saying_ that I’m gonna go out whenever I can. If I’m not unconscious from the latest adventure or I don’t have a huge exam the next day, I want to be out there,” Donald turns his head to look out the window, “making a difference.”

Gladstone is seeing all sorts of hidden depths to his cousin tonight. Yikes, what to say to that kind of statement, jeez. “We got plenty of time to make a difference, Don, we’re not even out of high school,” Gladstone reasons. “Right now, we’re just learning the ropes and being crazy kids, no need to really stress about it that much. Making a difference is for adults.”

Donald shoots him a sharp glare that settles into a deep scowl. “Of course you’d say that.” 

“Of course I’d say what?”

“That we should let the adults handle it. That we should wait to become adults to handle it. Some of us-” Donald visibly bites off the end of his sentence. Gladstone frowns. The duck continues, wrestling with his words. “ _I_ ,” he stresses, “I am not waiting to do something. That’s not...It’s not something I can do.”

Gladstone stands up from the desk chair and starts pacing. One, two, three, four steps, turn around, walk back. One, two, three, four steps, turn around, walk back. One, two, three, four-

“Glad?”

The goose stops pacing and stands still for a moment. Gladstone ignores his cousin for a second to inspect his hands, where they’d held the mask earlier. He rubs his fingers together and some of the light brown, dried blood crumbles off his white feathers. He turns to look at Donald. 

“Donald.” Gladstone hesitates before repeating himself from earlier, “Are you okay?” He hopes his cousin sees it for the out it is. Let Gladstone win once tonight. His cousin frowns and scratches at his elbow. The bandages shift around the arm. Gladstone looks away. 

“Am I…are you okay?” Donald deflects instead.

“I’m peachy keen,” Gladstone replies with pronounced cheer. He rocks back on his heels. “So, you are okay? You’ll live to the morning?”

Donald catches on, frowning at first before finally saying, “Yep, all good. You can go back to bed now.” Gladstone laughs weakly. 

“Good to hear! Good to hear…” Jeez, now the duck almost looks downcast because Gladstone wants out of this frankly strange conversation. His stomach churns uneasily and Gladstone really just wants to dart out the door and chalk this all up to a weird dream. He turns and begins to walk toward the door, but before he crosses the threshold, Gladstone spins around and rushes up to the duck. 

“Gladstone?” Donald says and then groans, “Mind the ribs!” as Gladstone quickly, tightly wraps his arms around his older cousin. He holds the hug for four seconds before letting go and stepping away immediately. 

“Well, goodnight, Don,” Gladstone says. Donald looks back at him.

“Goodnight, Glad.”

The goose nods and then makes his way out of the room. Just before he closes the door, he hears Donald’s tired voice ask, “You won’t tell anyone ‘bout me?”

Gladstone swallows roughly and it takes him a moment to respond. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“ ‘Kay...goodnight…”

“Goodnight, Don,” repeats Gladstone and he closes the door with care. He walks back to the stairs and goes down to the kitchen. He remembers that reporter, asking if the Duck Avenger is the enemy. The shadowy silhouette of the Duck Avenger jumping a fence. Gladstone pulls a glass out of the cabinet and pours water into it from the pitcher. He sets the pitcher down and there’s a slight brownish tint on the white plastic that hadn’t been there before. Gladstone wipes it away and drinks from his glass. A mayor embezzling funds, that would require breaking and entering to figure out, getting into secured files or going onto the mayor’s, well, ex-mayor’s property, trespassing. That’s just one thing Gladstone knows about, and who knows how long Donald will keep superheroing? If he ever gets caught…

Gladstone finishes off his water and rinses the glass, setting it to dry on the mat beside the sink. He walks back to his room and slips under the covers. He stares up at the ceiling. His cousin the vigilante. Out there, trying to make a mark and fixing injustices. Although Gladstone isn't quite sure his cousin is really old enough, when he thinks about it he can find it pretty cool of Donald. Hopefully, he won’t have to think about it all. Tomorrow, he’ll have to talk to Fethry about changing their prank plans. Maybe something with not quite as many roller skates.

Gladstone closes his eyes and waits for a new day to begin.


End file.
